


touch me and then turn away

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Coach/Player Relationship, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Power Dynamics, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What should I do with you, huh?” he says, a little softer. It’s a real question, Dylan can tell. That’s always been their understanding – Dylan gets put in his place, but he gets a choice of exactly where that place is.Even then, the question always makes him shudder, goosebumps rising on his arms as he tries not to push back into Jeremy’s hand.Jeremy looks down at him, quirks an eyebrow and Dylan clears his throat.“I told you to make me watch my mouth,” Dylan says, steadier than he expected. “So, you should make me.”





	touch me and then turn away

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be shit at following/finishing Kinktober hence the anon posting so I'm not pitied by self-accountability but here's this anyway. 
> 
> This is fictional and completely made up and maybe one day I'll actually reveal myself. Who knows. 
> 
> Thanks to my instigators. You know who you are.

“What the fuck were you thinking, leaving him open like that, huh?” Jeremy had said on the bench, sharp and in his ear after Dylan sat down. He’s right – Konecny was wide open, and he couldn’t so much as blink before the puck was in the back of the net, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take the riot act for it.

“Don’t blame me for the shitty ice,” Dylan snapped, still trying to catch his breath, and he could feel Jeremy tense up behind him. “How about the d-pair that’s been out there for the other two, huh?”

“Watch your mouth,” Jeremy warned, but Dylan just rolled his eyes.

“Make me,” he said, smirk on his face as he slid down the bench when the next shift comes back.

–

Naïvely, he thought that was going to be it. They were going to move on, Jeremy would forget Dylan said something in the heat of the moment, and he'd be off scott-free, but even after everyone’s agreement that it was the ice that lost them this game, Jeremy’s jaw was still clenched as he eyed Dylan in the post game meeting.

He showered quickly, and maybe a little nervously, knowing that at some point, he’d have to answer for his threat. He barely made it out of the locker room before there was a hand on his elbow, pulling him down a hallway. 

“Think you’re gonna get away with that?” Jeremy asks, low and right in Dylan’s face. 

The locker room door opens, Perls and Murph fiddling with their phones, heads down as they talk to each other. They don’t even see Jeremy and Dylan. 

Dylan looks away and the hand on his elbow tightens. “Answer me, Dylan.”

“ _ Jesus _ ,” Dylan winces, tugging back and definitely not helping his cause. His heart starts racing, just a little. “I mean, not really.”

Jeremy cocks an eyebrow, jaw set and Dylan smirks. 

Put upon, he sighs. “No.”

Jeremy’s grip relaxes a little. “Try again.”

“No,  _ sir,” _ Dylan exaggerates and Jeremy rolls his eyes. 

“You know what I’m going to say,” Jeremy says, letting Dylan go entirely, crossing his arms. 

Dylan nods. “Your room.” 

“Good,” he says, and even in acknowledging his future punishment, the praise makes Dylan squirm. 

Jeremy turns his head, just slightly and for a second, Dylan thinks he’s making to leave, but it’s only a matter of seconds before he realizes how wrong he is. It’s a quick movement, Jeremy grabbing Dylan’s tie and pulling him close, a brief hesitation before kissing him deep and filthy. 

He’s dizzy after Jeremy pulls away, and when he finally opens his eyes, he’s not surprised to see Jeremy walking away, already halfway down the hall.

–

Dylan catches it out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy loosening the blue tie around his neck. It’s not much of a gesture, just a tug at the silk knot, but it’s enough for him to know that he’s definitely in trouble. Enough to show that he’s  _ just _ angry enough to start riling Dylan up now. 

He just usually waits until they’re in a space a little more private than the elevator with several teammates. 

He thinks about saying something, about scoffing a little or rolling his eyes, but even that would make things even worse for him. After all, mouthing off is what got him here in the first place. 

The elevator dings and the doors slide open to Jeremy’s floor, and Dylan almost moves to follow him before he remembers they’re not alone. 

“Boys,” he says with a nod, bidding them goodnight and reminding them about tomorrow’s skate. He barely catches Dylan’s eyes as the doors slide shut, eyes dark.

His tie is entirely undone. 

There’s a buzz in his pocket before the elevator stops on his own floor, but he ignores it until he and Alex make it to their room. 

**Coach ** 11:47pm

_ Room 413. 12:30.  _

“Me and Shawzy are gonna go and grab dinner if you wanna come,” Alex says, taking his jacket off and hanging it in the closet, and Dylan shakes his head a little too easily. 

“Nah. I’m gonna catch up on tape, I think,” he says, tossing his own jacket on his bed as he moves to change into sweats. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to get in between--” 

“There’s nothing happening,” Alex says, a little too quick, face a little too pink for that to be the whole truth. 

“Go to dinner, Brinks,” Dylan says, smiling as he shakes his head. 

Alex heads out soon after, leaving the room smelling of the cologne he puts on when he has the intent of picking up.

Nothing going on there. Sure. 

By the time 12:15 rolls around, Dylan’s jittery enough to cut his losses and head up to Jeremy’s room, against his instruction.

At this point, he’s not sure if that’ll work in his favor or not. 

He doesn’t even remember getting in the elevator, but before he knows it, he’s knocking on the door to room 413.

“You’re early,” is Jeremy’s greeting when he pulls the door open, barely letting Dylan catch it before walking away. He’s still in dress pants, his white button down cuffed around his elbows. He’s definitely a sight for sore eyes.

Dylan blinks, holds his ground despite the shake in his knees. “Is that an issue?” 

“Maybe for you,” Jeremy responds. 

If Jeremy sees him shiver, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“On your knees,” he says, sitting at the desk and shuffling through some papers. “Since you decided to interrupt me, you’ll wait until I’m done.”

“Yes, sir,” Dylan says, sinking to his knees next to him. He doesn’t even think about the words before they’re out of his mouth, and he curses Jeremy in his head for it. 

“I was just getting to the good part,” Jeremy says. Dylan doesn’t chance looking up at the screen but he can hear Jeremy typing, the smack of the spacebar and then the sounds of the game. “Yeah, right here. Konecny’s second goal.”

Dylan exhales, trying his best to keep it slow and even. He can see the play unfold in his head; the way he got caught up in his stride, the look on Konecny’s face as he handled the puck right past him. 

“You have a chance to prove that you’re better than this, Dylan,” he says, coach-voice in full force. “I expect you to take that chance.”

“Yes, sir,” Dylan says, head ducking a little more, but he’s stopped by Jeremy’s hand on his chin, lifting his head to make their eyes meet. 

“But that’s not why you’re here,” Jeremy says, the small, wicked smile on his face that Dylan knows means he’s in for it. He can feel his blood rushing, can’t help but squirm a little as he feels himself start to get hard. 

He shakes his head, pops his knuckles behind his back where his hands are clasped. Jeremy moves his hand from Dylan’s chin, running it through his curls until it rests at the back of Dylan’s head, not pulling but threatening to. 

“What should I do with you, huh?” he says, a little softer. It’s a real question, Dylan can tell. That’s always been their understanding – Dylan gets put in his place, but he gets a choice of exactly where that place is. 

Even then, the question always makes him shudder, goosebumps rising on his arms as he tries not to push back into Jeremy’s hand.

Jeremy looks down at him, quirks an eyebrow and Dylan clears his throat.

“I told you to make me watch my mouth,” Dylan says, steadier than he expected. “So, you should make me.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen for just a second, so quickly that had Dylan blinked, he would’ve missed it. 

“Sounds fair enough,” Jeremy says, turning his head for just a second, glancing at his paperwork. “Strip and lay down. I still have a few things to do.” 

“But you said--” Dylan starts, before his eyes flick over to the alarm clock, red numbers reading that he still wasn’t due up here for another three minutes. Shit.

“Yeah, I  _ said _ twelve-thirty, but  _ someone  _ was a little eager,” Jeremy says. “You’ll have to wait until then.” 

Dylan sighs, chancing his luck by using the desk and Jeremy’s thigh to push himself up and off the ground. Jeremy’s shaking his head when Dylan tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor. 

“Did I tell you to make a mess?” Jeremy says into his papers, not even bothering to look up. 

Dylan smirks, tugs his sweats down, kicking them off. “Didn’t tell me not to.”

He hears Jeremy sigh and then set his pen down, and before he can even process what’s going on, Jeremy’s lips are on his, walking them back against the wall. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” Jeremy barely pulls back to say, before kissing Dylan even more breathless than he already was. 

He’s still in his boxers, he realizes belatedly as Jeremy presses his leg against where Dylan’s half hard, but it’s not like it’ll be  _ his _ fault he didn’t completely follow instructions. 

All Dylan can do is groan, push his hips forward and accept the pull at his hair he earns for it. 

“Bed,” Jeremy instructs, pulling Dylan back as he tries to go back for more. 

It takes a bit of a push for Dylan to actually go, but when he does finally lay back with his head against the pillows, he’s met with the sight of Jeremy kneeling on the edge of the bed, reaching for his belt, eyes still locked on Dylan. He gets the buckle undone, pops the button and leaves it as he moves to settle over Dylan and the anticipation alone gets Dylan the rest of the way there.

So it’s been a couple days since Jeremy let him have this. Sue him. 

“Odds you’ll misbehave if I let you have the use of your hands?” Jeremy asks, back to his no-nonsense voice that Dylan always hears as a challenge. 

Dylan shrugs, lets himself run his hand down his stomach, tucking his thumb into his waistband. “Depends on what you count as misbehaving.” 

“Fucks sake,” Jeremy sighs, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at his eyes before getting up. “Kneel at the end of the bed, wait for me and don’t even think about touching yourself.” 

Dylan wishes he could manage some kind of witty retort, he really does, but it’s all he can do to stop the pathetic whine that wants to escape instead. For once, Dylan does as he’s told. 

“Good,” Jeremy says, coming back into Dylan’s line of sight. He’s down to just his boxers, which is a shame because the pushed up sleeves was  _ really  _ doing it for Dylan, but so is the obvious bulge straining against his boxers, so he’ll call it a win. “Looks like you  _ do _ know the rules.”

“Unfortunately,” Dylan says, under his breath as Jeremy’s climbing back into bed, laying back on the pillows where Dylan was.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows. “What was that?” 

“Nothing, sir,” he says quickly, grinning. “Where do you want me?” 

Jeremy rolls his eyes, fond for a fleeting second before he gets close to Dylan again, fingers lacing through his hair and tugging as he pulls him down and on top of him. 

“Wherever you won’t talk back,” he says, kissing him deep and a little biting and Dylan groans into it. 

Wordlessly, he pulls back and slides down over Jeremy’s body, settling at his hips and so close to where he wants his mouth to be that it waters. 

“That’s more like it,” Jeremy says, a little strained, his hand still in Dylan’s hair. “Hips up, Dyl, before you find another loophole.” 

Dylan sighs, a little sharper than intended, earning a firm tug at his hair for the effort and he can’t help but whine. He does keep his hips up, even though everything in him is saying to push them down into the mattress. 

He waits for a beat, just in case Jeremy’s going to say anything else, but when Dylan peeks up through his eyelashes to where he’s leaning against the headboard, he’s looking at Dylan expectantly. His eyes are basically saying ‘what are you waiting for?’

And Dylan’s not waiting for anything, so he tugs Jeremy’s boxers down and immediately kisses his way up the shaft sloppily. It’s rewarding, the way Jeremy groans, the way his hand tightens in Dylan’s hair from even the barest of actions. 

He takes the head into his mouth, sucking shallowly as he brings his hand up to stroke easily as he sinks down a little, starting to bring himself to a rhythm. 

Above him, hand still fisted in his hair, Jeremy hums a moan. 

“That’s it,” he says after Dylan’s got a steady pace established, scratching at his scalp. “Silence.” 

Dylan almost pulls off, almost huffs or does something to preserve his dignity but there’s only so much to protect when he’s got his coach in the back of his throat. 

So instead, he just swallows, tightens his grip and sinks down even further, swallowing around him before pulling off and doing it again.

“You fucking  _ brat _ ,” Jeremy gasps, pulling Dylan off with the tight grip in his hair. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” 

“Wasn’t trying to be funny,” Dylan manages, already panting and his voice already rough. “Just trying to prove I’m better.” 

Jeremy exhales on a laugh, running his hand through Dylan’s hair, a touch of softness in his features. 

Then the wicked smile returns and Jeremy nods down to where Dylan’s barely a breath away from his dick, flushed and hard in Dylan’s hand. 

“Then prove it,” Jeremy says, pushing Dylan back down. He’d be a little ashamed of how easily he goes, directed by Jeremy’s hand, but his head feels like it’s floating, his whole body numb in the best way possibly that he can’t think about anything other than making Jeremy feel good.

“You love this, don’t you?” Jeremy says, and it would almost be mocking if he wasn’t breathless, which… Just proves Jeremy’s point entirely. He  _ does  _ love this, he’s  _ always  _ loved it and especially loves it when he can hand all control over. 

He doesn’t say any of that, just hums, relaxes his throat, and lets Jeremy push into his mouth and take what he wants. 

“Always mouthing off,” Jeremy says, hand tightening in his hair, the familiar sting of it almost numbing, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. “I should always keep you like this.” 

It’s obviously an exaggeration, but Dylan’s head floods with images of earlier in the elevator, even earlier in the locker room, Jeremy’s eyes on him. He wonders what it would be like to get put down on his knees, right at his stall and let Jeremy have his way with him in front of everyone. 

_ Fuck _ , is that a thought. 

Jeremy’s got his own rhythm now, fucking into Dylan’s mouth steadily, so Dylan swallows, tightens the suction and tries to ignore just how fucking hard he is, how much he wants to disobey and get himself off. 

He whines, the hyperawareness coming to him, pushes his hips into nothing and above him, Jeremy laughs, just a little breathless. 

“Think you’ve earned it?” Jeremy says, pushing his knee up and knocking his leg against Dylan’s legs, ass still in the air. “Think you’ve proven yourself, Dylan?” 

He can’t answer, obviously. All he can do is look up, tears rolling down his cheeks, lashes clumping together. That’s got to be answer enough -- he can only imagine what he looks like. 

“Fuck, you should see yourself,” Jeremy says, rushed, like this is what will push him over the edge. 

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“God,” Jeremy gasps, fucking in a little harder, enough to bring fresh tears to Dylan’s eyes. He’s guiding Dylan down with the hand in his hair, hips starting to move a little faster, and Dylan gets his hand back around the bottom of Jeremy’s shaft, moving in time. 

“In your mouth or on your face?” Jeremy asks and Dylan just  _ moans _ , low and in the back of his throat, because he  _ really  _ can’t be expected to make that decision right now, can he? 

Jeremy’s hips stop, the hand in Dylan’s hair pulls up, and he really can be expected to answer. 

Dylan coughs, throat raw, tears still tracking down his face and takes a deep breath. 

“In my mouth,” he manages, gravelly and rough. He barely gets so much as a steadying breath before he takes Jeremy down to the base, pressing his palm against his balls, with just enough pressure to get him to moan. 

Jeremy’s hips stutter, his breathing picks up and Dylan knows he’s close.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and Dylan does, swallows around him and revels in the way Jeremy swears, head falling back against the headboard. 

Dylan pushes his hips down, stops them from pushing into his mouth and sucks hard at the tip, runs his tongue over the slit and Jeremy’s swearing out a warning before spilling hot onto Dylan’s tongue.

He swallows what he can, bobbing his head a couple more times as Jeremy twitches through the aftershocks, the grip in Dylan’s hair finally loosening as he pulls Dylan off. 

He laughs a little, opening his eyes and looking at Dylan, hands still on Jeremy’s hips, his own hips still up in the air, noticeably hard and leaking in his boxers. 

“Should send you back just like that,” Jeremy says, still winded, letting his hand run down Dylan’s back, taking the same path back up with the blunt edge of his nails. 

Dylan could cry. He might, now that the attention is brought back to him, back to how badly he needs to come. It honestly wouldn’t take that long, all he needs is Jeremy’s hand on him and ––

“Still fucking eager,” Jeremy laughs, and it’s only then that Dylan realized he’d been speaking out loud. “Get over here.” 

He can’t move fast enough, laying next to Jeremy, eyes still a little blurry. 

“Please,” he manages, and Jeremy rolls his eyes but reaches into Dylan’s boxers anyway, taking him in hand and instantly setting a pace. 

“So good,” Jeremy says, kissing at the hinge of Dylan’s jaw, the words barely a breath over his skin but he shivers. “Did so well, Dylan.” 

His skin feels like it’s on fire, all of the waiting catching up to him and bringing every nerve ending to life. He can’t tell if he’s too hot or too cold, too  _ everything  _ but he feels high with it, reduced to a shaking mess under Jeremy’s hand. 

“Come on,” Jeremy says, mock-impatient before kissing the air from Dylan’s lungs, deep and broad sweeps of his tongue. 

Dylan just whines, lets Jeremy swallow the sounds he makes, pushing his hips into his hand where everything is too fucking  _ much.  _

“I can’t––” Dylan pants, but he’s not sure  _ what _ he can’t. Breathe? Stay still? Hold on? “Fuck, I’m––”

“Come  _ on, _ ” Jeremy repeats, dipping down and biting at his pulse point  _ just so _ , and Dylan’s been pretty good at obeying tonight, so what’s one more command answered.

He shivers, closes his eyes and lets his orgasm wash over him, electric and consuming and so fucking  _ good _ that he’s dizzy with it, doesn’t even care that Jeremy didn’t get his boxers off all of the way. 

Doesn’t care about much, right now. 

Jeremy’s still working kisses into the column of his throat, languid and syrupy the way he always is after he comes, the glow settling over him. 

“Never said anything about sending you back like  _ that _ , though,” he says into Dylan’s neck, wiping his hand off on the ruined boxers before snapping the waistband against Dylan’s hip. Dylan can almost  _ feel  _ the smirk on Jeremy’s lips under his hammering pulse.

He’d care, but he’s too far gone for that. 

“Let me stay for a bit?” Dylan asks, finally finding his voice.

Jeremy hums, nestling in a little closer, throwing an arm around Dylan’s waist. “Just a bit.” 

  
  



End file.
